


Particles of Light

by luxartisan



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Married Characters, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxartisan/pseuds/luxartisan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no words adequate for this intimate language of flesh. Only skin can speak to skin and their dialogue is wondrous, poetic and deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Particles of Light

The scent of burnt toast and strong coffee wafts through the air while morning sun butters the windows. The Tech, Leisure and Sunday magazine, opened to the crossword half-done in ink, are stacked on the ebony coffee table in ordered formation. The rest of the Sunday paper is strewn on the floor and the side table and on the man that reclines on the sofa, in nothing more than cotton pajama pants, inspecting a magazine whose circulation list is top secret due to the wealth and high-profiles of its readers.

Certainly, news could be gleaned from any number of online sources, but Kyoya Ootori has a penchant for classic print media - books made from paper and fiber; magazines that hold photographs in great, glossy detail and, of course, newspapers; daily newspapers in multiple languages and of varying perspectives that include the Yomiuri Shimbun, The New York Times and Die Zeit. Kyoya likes to know all sides of an issue before forming his own opinion which he typically keeps to himself unless admittance is mandated. Information, after all, is power and should never be disseminated without careful consideration of impact, timing and consequences.

The young professional has obtained for himself a modicum of celebrity as a self-made man from a quality family. He's cool under pressure, accustomed to the spotlight and prefers giving orders over taking them, though his bride of one year manages to win her way quite often. Bright, beautiful and stubborn, Haruhi had kept him waiting for an answer to his marriage proposal for three, long years; but, in the end, she conceded on the day her law degree was conferred. There was never any doubt in Kyoya's mind that she would, but the long-distance relationship was hell.

Now, they're married and sharing an envious view of the city in an elegant secure high-rise near Tokyo University. Haruhi is a junior partner at a reputable criminal law firm, maintaining her surname Fujioka to keep things simple, even though the social pages keep tabs on their activities. It's the way of things for her, now; just as it has always been for him. They've both been putting in extra hours for weeks, time spent together at a premium and Kyoya's made up his mind that it's time for them to get away.

"Breathtaking locations, first-class dining, luxury accommodations..." he reads, a trace of seduction coloring his voice. He sits up and grey-brown eyes lift above the shiny book to where Haruhi sits on a custom-designed swivel stool at the end of the breakfast bar, the toes of her right foot balanced on the circular stretcher that encompasses the supporting legs, her own free leg idly swinging back and forth. Her head is bent towards the laptop screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. She's wearing her glasses, his Dragons tee-shirt and not much else but Kotoko's wedding band on her left hand.

"Care to comment?" he further inquires after getting no response.

"I think you're dreaming," she says without looking at him, brows furrowed at some item she reading. She reaches for the carafe of orange juice and the hem of the tee-shirt rises exposing more thigh and almost, almost the curve of her bottom inciting a quick rush of adrenaline through his system and more than a twinge of desire.

"Just listen a minute." He pushes at the glasses he only wears at home now and adopts the voice he used to use on guests way back when, during their Host Club days, knowing that she'll register the words even if she's not looking at him. "Tropical accents and fixtures highlight the colonial-style decor while Asian and French influences infuse the airy dining room. Our chefs will tempt your palette while our spa soothes your body for maximum relaxation and renewal." He pauses and turns to her again, hopeful. "We could travel incognito and pretend to be commoners," he teases, his inner eye defining curves beneath the loose lines of the oversized shirt.

"Commoners can't afford that kind of resort, Kyo."

"And since when has price ever been an obstacle?"

"Since I'm still paying back my student loans, anata," she says as if he should know this by now.

"I wish you'd just let me take care of the balance. It's a pittance, really."

"Yes," she says, shifting her gaze from the screen full of stock indexes and Nikkei quarter calls she's been studying just to please the man she now calls husband, "but it's my pittance and I'll pay for my degree completely on my own, thank you."

He sighs at her implacable practicality. "We need a break."

"I'm fine."

"Well, I need a break," he says. "We haven't had much time alone lately." His chin rests on bare, toned arms over the back of the sofa, the look in his eyes inviting challenge.

She smiles at him over the lens perched on her nose. "Miss me?"

"Let me show you how much," he cajoles with a wag of his brow.

She shakes her head and tries to look annoyed. "Wasn't last night enough for you?"

"Never," he rejoins and rises, moving towards her at a slow pace.

She appraises his form with a critical-but-loving eye, noting with satisfaction the weight he's put on his lanky frame since their marriage and successful landing of Tokyo-based jobs. His dark good-looks have taken on the angles of manhood and though Kyoya Ootori is off the list of Japan's most eligible bachelors and a band of gold graces his elegant hand, his fine features still turn heads wherever they go and women flirting with him in her presence is a staple. No matter; she's certain of his love.

She drops her eyes, a half-smile playing about her lips as she remembers how he evidenced it the night before. He was generous with his time and talent, seducing her with a bottle of wine and a plate of ripe blackberries for no particular reason. She took only a few sips but was intoxicated just the same, on him. He painted her body with the dark berries' juice then licked her clean. She felt playful and giddy and only a little diffident. Deep, languorous kisses eased her worries and dissipated self-consciousness. He coaxed her to tell him what she wanted.

"Your mouth," she breathed into his ear like angel's breath. "On me."

He didn't need to ask where. Laying a path of nips and kisses from her chin to her stomach and beyond, she shivered from his attentions. She forswore on silence when he plied her sex with lips and tongue and fingers, forgetting herself in the whirlwind of his impassioned hums and her exhortations of 'yes' and 'more.' The earth swayed on its axis in the moment of climax, stars spinning in crazy orbital frenzy as she succumbed to the waves of pleasure he induced.

His arms now enfold her from behind and she feels the warm, dry brush of his lips against her temple. Tipping back her head, she closes her eyes and waits. His lips barely brush hers into temptation and she murmurs, "Again." Another soft, but longer impression, his lips tugging hers with him as he pulls back. And "again." Several times more, each contact lingering longer, lips slowly savoring while stoking embers of passion. Her arm reaches up and around his head, threading through the soft hair at his nape and holding him close so he can not escape. His surrender is assumed as tongues gently parry, slide and tease want into need, and she wills time to slow in this moment of communion. It is a gift from the Fates that brought them together and she knows she mustn't waste even a moment.

He presses his bare torso into her back and his hands slide under her arms and over her loose breasts, cupping each one and kneading gently. "So what looks promising?" he murmurs into her ear and for a moment she's perplexed, then realizes he's referring to the indexes on the laptop screen. Only Kyoya would see stock market numbers as erotic art during foreplay.

"Ootori Medical was even for awhile but it looks like things are picking up."

"That so?" he says running his tongue along the shell of her ear, his breath somewhat quicker than it was before. His thumbs trace small circles across the peaks of her breasts, making sure the pad teases the stiffening nipples. Her entire body sparks and clouds her thinking as a growing urgency tugs at her core. "Tell me, Mrs. Ootori, is anyone buying this stock?"

The subtle friction, coupled with the direct, is sending arrows of pure pleasure through her body, demolishing resistance; and she is, all at once, no longer interested in the financial website that needs analysis or the grocery list that needs making. She is utterly refocused on the sound of his voice, his touch on her body and her own desire to re-taste his lips and to feel his body under her hands.

"You're insatiable," she teases, as his hands leave her to swivel her about and face him. Haruhi wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. He angles her backwards with one hand at her back and the other splayed across her thigh, leaning close to nuzzle her neck.

"You forget we have lots of catching up to do," he rejoins, tongue darting out to find the pulse point, preparing to do visible damage.

Pushing him back a bit, she meets his mirth-filled gaze. "Don't you dare give me another love-bite, Kyoya. And just what do you mean by 'catching up'?"

Upright once more, their faces are level when he says, "Considering how long it took us to get to this point, I've determined that we need to recoup time lost to break even. Let's say, oh...one actual koitasu for every imagined one I've ever had, hmmm?" The hand that's mid-back slides lower, to the concave space just above the sculpted curve of her cotton-covered ass where he notes there's no resisting fabric beneath. The hand on her thigh toys with the hem of the tee-shirt before his fingers slip beneath, finding only Haruhi and nothing else. He offers a sly grin of approval.

She's heating up, but remains more curious than aroused. "And just how much of your time was spent doing that?"

He adopts his official voice, the one she's heard him use with workers and staff members. "Statistically speaking, human males have a sexual thought on the average of once every 29 seconds." She waits. He squints, gazing over her shoulder, doing mental math while he kneads the soft, but solid flesh of her thigh, inching his way closer to where they both want his hand to be. "Let's see... three hundred sixty-five days... times ten years..."

He bites at his lower lip and scrunches his brow as if it's far too great a calculation for mental math alone. Cute hardly suits him, but he is cute when he does that. She rolls her eyes and pulls his face back with both of her hands until he's looking directly at her, once more. "You're telling me you've thought about IT since we've known each other?"

He shrugs. "It's a guy thing. We're programmed that way." He attempts to step out of her leg-cage, but she resists his escape. His free hand tickles her side and in her moment of weakness he steps out, only to step back in, this time his right hip nestled beside hers.

"Not fair," she complains.

"The world isn't fair, Haruhi, or haven't you learned that, yet?"

"You get back what you give, _Kyoya_."

"That's an interesting notion, so let's see..." The hand at her back rises to ensconce her shoulders as the other slides upwards along her inner thigh until his fingers gently delve her cleft and finds her already slick and swelling with need.

"Uh...huh," she nods, struggling not to reveal any reaction.

It's a game they've played for years, when sex sans bedroom was a challenge that became a kink in their sexplay. Kyoya's trademark phrase, avec addition, was his coded request for the game to begin. He always managed to scope out semi-public locations, daring her to keep a straight face and voice no sound as he got her off; a pressbox at the ballpark, the rear stacks of the Ootori medical library at T.U. and, of course, the backseat of his limo _without_ the privacy divider in place were typical. Perverse? Perhaps, but it made life interesting and he always satisfied. Reciprocation was only fair, though she demanded a modicum of privacy or at least a closed door in order to satisfy his appetites.

So, as his expert manipulation of her clit demands at least a quiet hitched sigh, she keeps her wits about her and asks, "What happened to friendship and respect?"

"We can do that, too." His eyes bore into hers, lust rising in their smoky depths as the scent of her arousal becomes evident to them both. She can't stifle that, but rather likes the effect it has on him.

"We?" she goads, keeping a straight face.

"The male species."

"I meant you and I." On the word "I" she pushes her thighs closed, pinning his hand between them which uncurls to mold itself to her sex.

"I've always respected you." She arches her brow and rocks her body against his stationary palm. "Niiiice," he murmurs. "Do it again." She does, and fights the sharp urge to close her eyes as a spiraling ribbon of heat courses through her body. With her forehead against his, she undulates her hips forward and back once, then twice; each time, a small sough of pleasure escapes her.

"Kyoya?" she asks, her eyes merely slits to meet his equally-shaded ones. "Take me to bed?"

"So last night wasn't enough for you either?"

"Let's just say I can admit when I'm wrong, shall we?"

"Let's. Now," he commands, stepping back, causing Haruhi to mewl in disappointment. He grips her by the waist to pull her from the stool and set her on her feet. "How's about we cut the chitchat and get busy?" He gently turns her around and pushes her towards the bedroom with a small slap to her bottom.

They make their way to the modern Euro-styled bed that dominates the airy room - an impetuous honeymoon purchase in Italy they've yet to regret. Twenty naked toes swish through the incredibly large and plush Aussie lambskin carpet that underlies the well-used piece and Haruhi's glad the maid is off on Sunday. She scrambles onto the deeply tufted mattress and turns onto her back. He's already straddling her, pushing the loose tee upwards until a succulent breast is exposed.

Without further words, his head lowers to latch onto a dusky pink nipple. She arches her back as she reclines, purring with contentment. His torso rests between her legs, body weight supported so as not to crush her. She loves the way it feels: his body solidly resting against hers, a bulwark for her in so many ways, potent yet protective. Independent as she is, she definitely appreciates the differences between male and female as his mouth moves from one breast to the other, granting its twin equal attention. The stimulation of his tongue is different than that of his fingers, but just as tantalizing.

They roll onto their sides and she melts into him like Belgian chocolate left in the sun too long. "Love you," she says earnestly and he lifts his face to hers. Small kisses are left like gifts along the ridge of his brow and down his patrician nose. When she nips the tip, he chuffs, then claims her sweet mouth. She tastes like nothing he's ever had and he has everything.

To her, he feels like Christmas morning and she anticipates the feel of him inside her, raising coarse goosebumps over her flushed skin. She loves this part of lovemaking - the power she feels at arousing his needs and then sating them. She never thought she would feel this way about simple human mechanics, but she loves the fact that it is so. At last.

She scoots down a bit and reaching between them, slips her hand inside the elastic of his pajama pants and gently grabs his erection. She used to wonder why ancient art so glorified the phallus until she became familiar with one in particular, though it's her love for the man that makes it fascinating to her. He shims the garment over his hips and her feet help push it downwards and off. She slides her hand down to the base of his cock in a loose hold before returning along the same route with a closer grip to alter the sensation. Unlike her own body, which responds to specific touch in specific ways and more so when she's fertile, Kyoya's sensitive spots, like most men's, shift so she has to stay attentive to be a good lover to him.

An apt pupil, Haruhi wonders at male mechanics as she watches her fingers trace around the sides and slit of the pink tip, now revealed with the foreskin retracted. She strokes along the underside where the gathered hood is most sensitive, listening to the way Kyoya's breath grows heavy. She lifts her head and observes his features, soft with need, his will sapped by her easy touch. Such power, but one she never abuses.

He reaches for her and manages to get most of the tee-shirt off, but she has to let go of him to remove the other sleeve. Pausing to toss the shirt off the bed, Haruhi sits up and removes her glasses. Kyoya does the same, handing them to her to place beside her own on the nightstand.

"Now get back here," he admonishes, pulling at her legs and spreading them with a sudden roughness so that she topples onto her back into downy pillows. He kneels between her parted limbs, supporting himself with one arm as his eyes rake the daylit contours of her body. Taking his tool in hand, he slowly runs the tip back and forth across her clit, savoring the twitch of her body and the pant of her breath at the action. She's wet with anticipation, but he pauses. "What can I do for you? Tell me." And he means it, even now.

Patience and focus. It's what makes Kyoya so successful at everything he does and finding herself frequently at the epicenter of Kyoya's focus has sharpened her own. Though negative at times, she always knows what matters to him by where he employs those two vital skills. She's known this about him from the start. That and a deep-rooted, though oft disguised, desire to please those whose opinions matter most to him.

But right now, she just wants him close; wants his body merged with hers. "Be with me," she coos. "I don't need anything else." His eyes tell her what she needs to know - he loves her, he wants her, he can't live without her. And it's enough.

Moving purposefully, he eases into her welcoming heat, the enveloping friction feeling so-o good. The cerebral Kyoya turns off as the sensual Kyoya turns on. His heartbeat is strong and steady, blood tingling the skin, breath deep. Instinct says thrust, inseminate and leave. Intellect argues loiter, stroke and savor. He isn't a particularly vocal lover, but she knows his most intimate sounds - the sigh, the groan and soft growl that voices itself as they stake their claims on one another.

His Scorpion intensity used to unsettle her detached Aquarian nature. Passion is a welcome visitor in her orderly life, just not a persistent state of being; passion often leading to possessiveness, something from which she shies away. Haruhi isn't interested in ownership, but partnership. Kyoya had to learn that the hard way, but learn he did to give her the space she needed while keeping her intrigued in order to keep her at all. What she feels for him defies definition, but she fell in love with him: the headstrong catalyst that turns her ideas into actions, the creative lover who rocks her world and always, her steadfast friend.

As their lives and hearts are entwined, so too are their hands now on either side of her head, her shoulder-length hair fanning out on the pillow and he thinks her so very beautiful as their breath conjoins in the space between. There are no words adequate for this intimate language of flesh. Only skin can speak to skin and their dialogue is wondrous, poetic and deep. His breath, his touch, his every molecule of being possesses her and she pants just to draw air. Already incoherent, she focuses on just him; the angle of deep penetration pressing his body against her pubic bone, in turn stimming her deepest pleasure center in a slow push-pull that coils her like a spring straining for release.

"Like that," she breathes. "Don't stop. Yess. Yes,yes." Then she is silent, her breath caught on the rosy blossom of orgasm. He feels the rhythmic spasms of her vagina around his cock, urging him to his own completion. He pays homage: sacrificing his pride, his strength, his self-control; all for the sensation of divinity's grace. He groans at the glorious peak, body arcing in a continuous loop of motion that draws every ounce of potency from within, replacing it with complete and utter relaxation.

Limp and quiet in the afterglow, he withdraws. Satiation brings lethargy and they drowse, entwined beneath the lightweight covers, as morning slides into early afternoon. When he opens his eyes again, he notes the time and the fact that he's hungry. It's well past lunchtime but an early dinner might be the ticket. Haruhi stirs beside him and he murmurs against her brow, "So, what do you think?"

"About?" she says in a drowsy voice.

"Making time."

"Isn't that what we just did?" She feels his smile.

"I mean getting away and sharing more than the usual routine." She shifts closer to him and tucks the bespoke sheets around them, creating a quasi-cocoon.

"There's nothing usual about our routine to me, Kyoya. You seem to forget I grew up under quite different circumstances."

"But the assets outweigh the deficits, yes?"

"In the grand scheme, I suppose."

"That sounds equivocal."

They're faces are slightly apart, hers slanted upwards to see his, their heads and bodies resting on a multitude of snow white pillows, their initials embroidered in 22k gold thread on pristine satin hems. The extreme cost of such mundane items isn't lost on Haruhi, whose humanitarian nature sometimes balks at the extravagance.

"I just mean that money can only give us things, like these linens - 120,000 yen to cover a bed that could look the same at a tenth of that cost."

"There are differences in quality, of course." Kyoya allows her guilty conscience its rant. He has no such compunction, though he isn't callous - just realistic.

"But so much of a difference?"

"Would you deny that we work hard for it?"

"No. We do."

"Do we not give generously to the charities you deem important?"

"We do."

"Then why not enjoy the fruits of our labor? It's not a crime to be wealthy; only to be flippant about it. And you know there's a dark side to it that most people neither see nor understand."

"I know that only too well. I just mean to say that the only thing that can truly give happiness is human connection."

"As you've taught me, koibito, and I'm grateful for your instruction and example. I hope that I've given you an equal share of life's important lessons, eh?" Practical, as always, Kyoya has indeed taught the idealistic young attorney how to handle life's tougher characters. His fingers ghost up and down her spine and they're quiet, each in their own thoughts. Finally, he inquires, "Haruhi, what are you thinking about?"

"Hmmm?" She meets his eyes, suddenly aware that she'd been drifting in thought. "Nothing in particular."

"I highly doubt that."

"Well, let's see. I guess I would say that I've achieved my dream." His visage beams with egoistic pride.

"So, being in bed with me is your dream?"

"Actually, I was thinking about my graduating Ouran and Harvard and earning my law degree."

"Blunt as ever, but honest. Am I in there at all?" Sarcasm, Kyoya's defense mechanism of choice.

"You weren't, at first; but you grew on me."

"Like mold, I suppose you'll say, just to bait me."

"Like the finest vein of blue in the finest Stilton," she taunts good-naturedly.

"A not-so-bad analogy, Haru, but let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

She giggles and offers him a brief kiss. "Actually, I was thinking how we each have strengths and weaknesses that we bring to the arena in which we might be operative to help one another grow in areas that need improvement."

"You know I love it when you talk dirty."

"You really are impossible," she avers.

His look says, "Who, me?"

"But," she continues, "You're sort of cute, so I guess I'll keep you for now."

"What about friendship and respect?"

"We can do that."

"We?"

"The female species."

"I meant you and I."

"We're soulmates, you know; even though you don't believe in such things."

"Because," he lectures, "they're illogical and emotional and thoroughly unproveable."

"There are animals that mate for life: wolves and swans and angelfish."

"Angelfish." His disbelief is clear.

"French angelfish. Look it up, Mr. Smartie-pants."

"I'll take your word for it. I rather like the wolf, though."

"Good, because you remind me of one."

"And how, exactly, is that?"

"Sleek exterior with a fierce heart; a worthy adversary but loyal and loving to those you care about."

"Ah, thank you. And one more thing."

"What's that?" she asks.

"Yours," he says, taking her by surprise with his sudden sweetness.

"Awww, Kyoya," she mewls, reaching up to press her lips briefly to his time and again until he returns her fervor. She stops and shifts until her head rests just under his chin and she listens to the steady lub-dub of his heart. Her breasts rest on his abdomen and he's coiling her hair around his fingers and letting it fall loose again.

In a soft voice she says, "There _is_ someone else who's a part of my dream."

"Who?" His innate competitiveness overrules his logic and he is, all at once, jealous of whomever Haruhi is considering. "You can't mean your father. He's well taken care of, now that he's retired and traveling the world he's never seen. Where is he now, by the way?"

"Oslo, I think. His last email says it reminds him of Osaka, except the men are mostly blond and blue-eyed." She can see her father in her mind, surrounded by beautiful Norwegian men who know nothing about his okama nature. Or maybe they do.

"As long as he's discreet, I don't care. So who else is in this dream of yours, if not me?"

"It's our dream, really; or at least, I hope it is."

"Our- " He stops short, analyzing her words with lightning speed; pulling together fragments of conversations, behaviors and subtle body changes only an intimate partner would notice, if they were paying attention. And he's always paying attention. A thrill, completely different from the one he felt earlier when contemplating making love to his wife, overtakes him. "Do you mean to say…?"

She hesitates, all at once worried that her "good news" may not be seen as such by him, so she says quite evenly, "We're pregnant."

"We're…prrreg-nant." The sustained silence that follows forces her to look up. A look of incomprehension sits on his handsome features, an altogether rare expression on the face of one who is rarely taken by surprise. His brows are slightly furrowed but then his eyes open wide, his brows arch. "You're having a baby."

"We are."

And then he's pushing to sit upright, taking Haruhi along. He looks at her, slightly bewildered. "How..." he says, his voice trailing off.

"The way it usually happens when people do what we've been doing for the last six months without birth control, dummy."

"But the doctor-"

"Was wrong."

And then he's laughing, head thrown back, full-throttled and totally, completely joyful. Joyful - a word she never thought would apply to him but which she witnesses now, much to her delight. She simply watches as the too-serious adolescent she first met, the sober-but-passionate suitor he proved to be and the devoted, compelling man she married lets go of all inhibitions in an altogether different way to reveal his happiness with her and their life. It's a moment she will always, always remember.

He quiets and stares into her eyes, then down to her abdomen with a calculating look in his eye, before returning her gaze. "Are you okay? Should we be doing what we just did?"

"It's fine, Kyo. In fact, we're in the clear for a good, long while. Just...no gymnastics, okay?"

"Right. Straight-forward fucking for the next…how many months?" She chortles.

"Six or so. And I'm sure we'll manage to keep one another happy even when I'm big and lumpy."

"And beautiful." His smile dims when he sees the shine in her eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just love you is all. Very much."

He pushes her onto her back and with his face just above hers, murmurs, "You know I don't believe in luck, but I'm very lucky to have you, Haruhi. Just don't tell anyone that I gushed about finding out we're starting a family, okay? My reputation as an ogre will be shot to hell."

"Not even Fuyumi?"

"Maybe Fuyumi, but that's all. And, by the way…I love you." He says it simply, but its simplicity is the truth she seeks. He's content and that's all she wants. The pain of his youth has eased within the scope of her love, and she knows that he knows she's the best thing in his life. Haruhi relaxes against him, content to experience just this moment as she looks at her wedding ring and how it might have been to tell her mother such joyous news. Her heart aches, just a little. As for her father, she'll tell him in person, just as soon as that's possible.

Outside, the bright April sun has begun a leisurely descent to the horizon. Inside, in their marital bed, the only thing that matters to the lovers are one another, their love and their future family.

It's spring, after all, and somewhere, a seed is growing.

END ~ Particles of Light


End file.
